


Wolves of the North

by SsgtC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SsgtC/pseuds/SsgtC
Summary: This is an idea I've been kicking around for a little while working on other projects. It's my first ASOIAF fic so feedback is greatly appreciated. I'm going to attempt to keep this to book cannon, but I haven't read them in quite a long time, so bits and pieces of show cannon may slip in. However, if it does happen and it causes a conflict, book cannon will always take precedence (unless otherwise specified) and edits will be made as needed.The timeline begins immediately before the Red Wedding when Robb decides to legitimize Jon and name him his heir. He's just not as quiet about it as in cannon. Long live the King in the North!!PS: This is at least in part a Starkwank. I'm going to try to keep it from going full on wank, but it's going to happen at least in part.
Kudos: 13





	1. Robb

The last of his Lords had signed his decree and Robb affixed the Seal of Winter to the document. It was done. His will was law now. His mother could protest it all she wanted. But Bran and Rickon were dead. Sansa was married to the Imp. And Arya? No one had seen Arya since the day his father had been arrested. And a nine year old girl in King's Landing had about as much of a chance of surviving as a mouse had after it had been bitten by a viper.

Despite the pleas of his mother, Jon Snow was now Jon Stark and his heir. The document that had been signed and sealed before him proclaimed it for all to see. He planned to present it to Jon personally after capturing Moat Cailin from the Ironborn and marching his army back through the North, liberating it as they went. The look on Jon's face was sure to be worth the trip to The Wall.

Though Jon was still a Man of the Night's Watch, this decree would handle that as well. Not only was Jon hereby legitimized by Royal Decree, he was released from his vows to the Night's Watch to fulfill his duty to his family. His sworn brothers may not like it, but as King in the North, he did have the authority to do that. And at any rate, he'd repay them for the loss of Jon a hundred times over. Every Ironborn that they captured alive would be given a choice: to lose his head, or join the Watch. Lord Commander Mormont was sure to appreciate the extra men.

But something in the back of his head was telling him not to wait. At times, he had the strangest feelings and dreams. Usually something to do with Grey Wind. But this was different. In the recesses of his mind, he could hear a voice saying, "Don't wait. Tell him now." If he had learned anything since leading the Northern host south and being declared King in the North, it was to listen to that voice.

As his Lords began filtering out of his tent, Robb spoke, "Lady Mormont, Lord Umber. Stay behind please."

Upon hearing both their names, Maege Mormont and Greatjon Umber both stop and turn towards their King. "Your Grace?" they said in unison.

"This document, Jon's legitimization. I dare not wait to make it known that Jon is my legal heir. Originally, I planned to tell Jon myself when we marched back North. But I don't think I can wait. So. I want Dacey and Smalljon to carry this letter to the Wall for me. I know that they're going to protest at being gone from my side. But I also know that of all the people in my camp, I can trust your Houses and those two more than any others. It'll go easier if I have your support with them."

Glancing at the Greatjon, Robb though it best to revise his words, "Well, at the least we'll be able to shout them down easier."

Roaring with laughter, Greatjon Umber slapped Robb on the back and told him, "Don't you worry, Your Grace. My son may have a head harder than the Iron Islands, but he'll do what he's told. Come on Maege! Lets go get our children so they can be on their way."

As his two bannermen made their way out of his tent, Robb poured himself a flagon of ale and drank down half of it in a single gulp before beginning to pace. This was the right decision, he was sure of it. Suddenly, he wished that he'd let Jeyne come with him to the Twins. He missed her terribly. He knew it was better for her to remain in Riverrun, Walder Frey was sure to be prickly as it was. But just for a moment he wanted to be selfish and have his Queen by his side.

Dropping into his camp chair, he picked up his ale and drank deeply from it again. Hearing the booming voice of the Greatjon yelling at his son that he would "bloody well do what his King commands," Robb couldn't help but chuckle. Trust the Greatjon not to bother standing on ceremony and to just get it out right away. As Smalljon and Dacey entered the tent followed by Maege and the Greatjon, Robb rose to speak with them.

"I'm guessing you know what I want you to do," he asked?

Speaking for both of them, Smalljon said, "Aye, Your Grace. And I don't like it. My place is by your side. Not ridding off over a thousand fucking miles from you."

Nodding fiercely, Dacey added, "Your Grace, it's a bad idea. I don't trust the Freys. Not one fucking bit. We should be with you."

"Aye, you should be. But that's not where I need you right now. Right now, I need you ridding hard for Castle Black. I want you both to head to Maidenpool, hire a ship and sail to Eastwatch. Then ride for Castle Black." Handing the sealed document to Smalljon, Robb continued, "Give this to my brother and Lord Commander Mormont. By the time you reach Castle Black, we'll have Moat Cailin under siege and possibly have already taken it. If you don't hear from me, take Jon to Last Hearth. I'll send word there once Moat Cailin falls. I trust the two of you more than anyone else in this world. Swear to me that you'll deliver this to Jon."

Robb could tell by the looks on their faces that they still didn't like it. But that they weren't going to keep fighting him on it. Not once they realized how strongly he felt about it. Both Smalljon and Dacey dropped to a knee and swore by the Old Gods that they would deliver the document to Jon at Castle Black. Thanking them, both Mormonts and Umbers made their way out of his tent. Robb meanwhile had to prepare to deal with Walder Fucking Frey.


	2. Dacey

Tears were streaming down her face. And she hated herself for it. She was angry, no she was murderous in her rage, and she was grief stricken. Robb had not just been her King, but her friend as well. The Smalljon had howled in rage when they had heard the news. The look on his face, well, "murderous" would be considered an improvement. Already the tale was spreading far and wide. Walder fucking Frey had broken Guest Right and murdered Robb and Catelyn Stark and everyone who came with them. Everyone except Roose Bolton that is. And it didn't take a genius to figure out why Roose was still alive.

All she knew was, they were still a days hard ride from Maidenpool, and there were sure to be some of those Bolton and Frey fuckers hot on their trail. They had been riding under a Stark Banner, but as soon as they heard word of what happened at the Twins, they had hurriedly furled it and packed it away. They couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves and being taken now. Not that either of them planned to let themselves be taken alive. That agreement hadn't even needed words. She had looked at the Smalljon with a hard glint in her eye and he had given her the smallest of nods and it was agreed. If they were caught, they were going to kill every last worthless shit of an oathbreaker they could before falling themselves.

As they pounded down the road, Dacey realized that everything had changed now. Robb was gone. Lady Stark was gone. Lord Stark was gone. Lady Sansa was a hostage of the Lannisters. Lady Arya hadn't been seen or heard from in over a year. Lords Brann and Rickon were dead, burned by that turncloak Theon. All that was left of House Stark was a bastard in the Night's Watch. No matter. That bastard was King in the North now. And she would make sure he lived. They would take their vengeance on those bastards that murdered their King and kin. If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd make sure every last Bolton and Frey died. This she swore by the Old Gods.

And Theon. That treacherous turncloak bastard. Whatever tortures the Gods could think up wouldn't be enough for him. If she ever caught up to him, she fully intended to take her time on that one. A piece here. A piece there. Until there wasn't anything left of the shit. By the time this war was over, those bastard Ironborn would learn just how hard and cruel the North could be. They would savage the Iron Islands till the seas around them ran red with blood. They would break the Ironborn so thoroughly that they would shake in fear at the very mention of the North. This too she swore by the Old Gods.

The miles continued to pass, both she and the Smalljon pushing their horses hard. She hated to do it, as she knew they were ruining the horses at the pace they were moving, but it couldn't be helped. They either moved fast, or they died. And the letter they carried had to make it to Jon. Find Jon, give him the letter, then take back their home. That was all she cared about. That and slaughtering every last person who had a hand in killing Robb.

By that evening, as they reached Maidenpool, their horses on the verge of collapse, she and the Smalljon headed straight for the docks. They needed a ship and they needed it fast. Entering a tavern by the dock, they carefully looked around, trying to find the sort of Captain who would do what was asked and would keep his mouth shut about it afterwards. For the right price. An hour later, they were on a fast ship heading North.

As their ship slipped down the Bay of Crabs, she heard Smalljon curse loudly and fluently. Coming over the hill, was a party flying Frey banners. And unless she was badly mistaken, the man leading the party was Black Walder, Walder Frey's bastard son. Of all the Freys, other than Old Walder himself, Black Walder was the one who's throat she wanted to slit the most. He was a vile, disgusting man who richly deserved death. One day, she promised herself. One day Black Walder, I will bury my knife in your throat and let your blood flow across my hands. And on that day, I will look down on you, and smile. Turning her back to the party of Freys, she crossed her arms and settled in for the voyage North.


	3. Wyman

The Lord of White Harbor gazed over his Great Hall in the New Castle. His family stood on both sides of the hall, surrounding him. Along the sides were arrayed the various Houses that had answered his call to muster the remaining strength of the North to throw the Ironborn scum back into the sea where they belonged. Though he could see all of this, it seemed that everywhere he looked, everything was tinted red. A raven had arrived just a few days previously, informing him that his son Wendel, was dead.

The Raven scroll had been vague on details as all such scrolls were, but this one was more vague than most. Deliberately so, he suspected. The Red Wedding the smallfolk were calling it. Like all such things, the rumors flew far faster than even the swiftest raven. And the rumors spoke of betrayal and murder. The Gods damned Freys had betrayed their King, violated Guest Right and engaged in an orgy of violence and depravity the likes of which hadn't been seen in Westeros in centuries.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the fucking Boltons had helped them! That fucking traitor Roose Bolton had broken his oaths to his King and shoved a knife in his heart. And then that fucking cunt Tywin Lannister rewards the oathbreaker by naming him Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Those bastards would pay for what they did. One day. Unfortunately that day was not today.

Wyman had a problem. He had amassed a sizeable force in White Harbor. The plan had been to move his force up the White Knife, secure Winterfell then move into the Wolfswood toward Deepwood Motte, freeing it from the Ironborn as they went. Meanwhile King Robb's forces would take Moat Cailin and move through the Barrowlands and The Rills, pushing the Ironborn back into the sea as they advanced. That plan was no longer viable. Nor was his initial impulse to take his men south and sack The Twins. His heir Wylis was being held captive by the Lannisters. Any move south would be guaranteed to result in Wylis' death.

But perhaps, just perhaps, a third option had opened up to him. A ship had just docked and aboard it were Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont. They had sent a runner to the castle begging an urgent audience with him. Being very interested to hear what they had to say, he agreed at once. Smalljon and Dacey had been two of King Robb's personal guards and he had assumed them dead at The Twins. The fact that they were here was curious. Very curious indeed. What peaked his interest even more was that the ship they sailed on had flown no banners. Odd considering the status of their Houses in general and their personal service to House Stark.

As Wyman sat and waited for his guests to arrive, his rage cooled slightly. Though he still thirsted for vengeance, his vision was no longer tinted red. For that he was thankful. He needed his wits about him. The years had not been kind to him physically. Too many pies, he thought ruefully. He could no longer sit a horse or swing a sword. He was left with only his wits to fight his battles. At least the pies hadn't dulled his mind. His mind was as sharp and strong as ever.

When the Smalljon and Dacey entered his Hall, he could plainly see the rage and the sorrow on their faces. He could also see that their escort contained men in Stark colors. Interesting. Some assignment from King Robb immediately before his betrayal? Or simply men gathered together as they fled death? He would be willing to place his considerable wealth on the former. Smalljon and Dacey loved Robb too much to have ever abandoned him when he was in peril. Still, he had been wrong before and could be again. The wise course to follow was to be cautious until the situation became clearer. And knowing the Umber's reputation for not beating around the bush, he wagered that would be happening the moment Smalljon opened his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, he was right. The situation was much clearer. And muddier than ever. Jon Snow, wait, Jon _Stark_ was now King in the North. But he didn't know it. And once he did learn he'd been named his brother's heir, how would he react? What would he do? More importantly, what would the other Lords of the North do? The Boltons were a foregone conclusion. They would refuse to bend the knee. House Dustin was all but certain to back the Boltons, Lady Barbrey had little love for the Starks. The Ryswells too were likely to declare for House Bolton, the ambitious cunts.

On the other side of the ledger, Houses Umber, Reed and Mormont would back House Stark unconditionally. His own House too would back the Starks. Some may call it foolish for him to declare so quickly for House Stark, but The North remembers. And House Manderly owed not only it's prosperity, but it's very survival, to House Stark. When looked at in that light, there really was no other option. Honor demanded that he back his King to the hilt.

Of the remaining major Houses, that left the Karstarks, the Cerwyns, the Tallharts, the Glovers and the Flints as the Houses that could go either way. All had members of their families being held hostage by either the Lannisters or the Greyjoys. Of those houses, only the Cerwyns and the Karstarks hadn't fallen to the Ironborn. Of those that had, whoever helped them free their lands and retake their castles was likely to win their loyalty. Though if he was being honest with himself, he did have a few other ideas that could sweeten the pot for one or two of those Houses.

That left the Cerwyns and the Karstarks. With the proper assurances from King Jon and from the other Houses, House Cerwyn _should_ declare for House Stark. He'd have to give more thought to that one. The Karstarks though would be a problem. King Robb had executed their Lord. And they were not likely to forget that. Perhaps if they could negotiate for Harion's release, and...

With a start, Wyman realized that he had been ruminating on what needed to be done for some minutes now. Clearing his throat loudly, he said, "Apologies. It's nearly time for the noon meal and I had begun to daydream about lamprey pie. Lord Jon, Lady Dacey. Would you be so kind as to join me in my solar? I believe there is much to discuss."

Those who were standing or sitting near Wyman just then would later go on to swear that, just for an instant, they saw a flash of the harder man he used to be. When pressed, they would just say that it was something about his eyes just then. And that they were certainly glad that they had never had to face Lord Manderly when he was in his prime.


	4. Melisandre

She stared into the flames.

"Speak to me R'hllor. Lord of Light, show me the way," she muttered softly.

The pirate's screams as the flames ate away at his flesh had finally subsided a few minutes before. And still she waited for her Lord to speak to her. As she peered intently into the flames, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh filling her nostrils, the flames appeared to dance before her eyes. She stared deeply into the flames, watching the vision that R'hllor had sent her. A pack of wolves stood clustered before a gate, a white wall behind them. One wolf was black as night and as wild as the sea in a storm. One was grey and dainty but with a core of iron. One was silver and ancient with a wise look in it's eyes. Another was lithe and powerful and seemed to slip in and out of the shadows with a practiced ease. All that she saw in a glance. It was the last wolf that drew her in.

Massive and powerful, it was white as new fallen snow. It moved on silent paws, its jaws uttering not a sound, despite it's lips pulled back in a snarl, its teeth on display for all to see. The silence of the wolf making it all the more menacing. As she watched, the white wolf reared up on its hind legs, standing as tall as a man. And then it turned its head and looked directly at her. Its eyes, as red as burning coals, seemed to bore straight into her. And then the white wolf did make a sound. A single huff, barely audible to her. But the wolves heard. And the wolves turned and began to circle around her. Each wolf growling deep within it's chest, the individual growls combining until they made but a single sound. The last thing she saw was the wolves lunging at her, faster than any viper, jaws open and ready to tear into her flesh.

With an explosion of sparks, the vision from R'hllor dissolved. There was little that she saw in the flames that could shake Melisandre. Even visions of her own death would not perturb her. When it was time for R'hllor to end her service and call her to him, she would willingly answer his summons. This vision though did disturb her. It was far different from what she had seen before. She had seen the King fighting below The Wall, a great victory. She saw him march on Winterfell. But never had she seen a pack of wolves.

As Melisandre returned to her quarters from the beach at Dragonstone, she pondered what the vision meant. The wolves she was certain meant the Starks with their direwolf banners. But Robb Stark was dead. His brothers were dead. One of his sisters was missing or dead, the other was a hostage in King's Landing. Certainly nowhere near The Wall, which she was sure is what she saw rising behind the wolves. Ahhhh, Robb Stark's _other_ brother. Jon _Snow_. Jon Snow was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. That would explain why the vision was of The Wall. Jon Snow was the white wolf. Could this vision perhaps mean that his half siblings were still alive and would one day reunite with him in the North?

But Jon Snow was a bastard. Why was he the leader of the pack? The answer came to her as she sat before the brazier in her quarters. With Brandon and Rickon Stark believed dead, Robb Stark's heir was his sister Sansa. Who had been forcibly married to a Lannister. Robb would be desperate to prevent the Lannisters from ever having a claim on Winterfell. He would have named his brother as his heir. A white wolf leading the pack indeed. Her King needed to know this.

Rising from her seat, Melisandre made her way through the halls and corridors of Dragonstone to the King's chambers. Despite the guard posted at the door, Melisandre eased open the door and slipped inside without even a knock, the only person on Dragonstone to have that privilege. Not even the King's wife could enter his chambers unbidden. The fact that she alone out of all the hundreds in the castle was allowed this boon was a display of her true power and influence.

Melisandre took in the King's chambers with a glance to ensure they were alone. But her gaze lingered on Stannis Baratheon. Stannis was a tall, powerfully built man. The true heir to the Iron Throne and Azor Ahai reborn. He was the man to lead them through the Long Night in the battle against the Great Other. As she walked towards where the King stood, Stannis didn't even acknowledge her presence in the room. Instead he remained motionless, standing by the fire, one hand on the hearth, supporting some of his weight as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

Reaching the King, she gently touched his shoulder and Stannis finally turned his head to look at her. Looking him in the eye, she said, "My King. I bring news. A false King rises to oppose you."

Stannis turned back to stare into the flames and uttered a single word, "Who?"

"Jon Snow, my King. I have seen it in the flames."

"Jon Snow is a bastard. He has no claim to the North."

"He has the blood of Eddard Stark in his veins, my King. That will be enough for many in the North."

"Use another leech then. The Lord of Light has killed two of my enemies already. What's one more?"

"R'hllor has already provided his proof to you, my King. He will not do so again unless you commit fully to him. More is required."

"Edric..."

"He has King's blood. Already the false kings Robb Stark and Balon Greyjoy are dead. You have seen the power his blood holds. Just a sample and your enemies fall before you."

A long silence fell between, broken only by the sound of Stannis grinding his teeth as he mulled over the implications of what she wished him to do. Finally Stannis told her in a low voice and without turning from the fire, "Make the preparations."

Nodding her head, Melisandre left the King's chambers. She had to prepare not only the pyre, but the boy as well. Behind her, Ser Davos Seaworth knocked and entered the King's chamber. Unseen by her, he left but scant minutes later, his skin white as new fallen snow. On his face played a range of emotions. Chief amongst them anger, fear, concern and finally, resolve. For Melisandre, she had no need to see those things. The flames had already shown her how Ser Davos would react. Her faith in the Lord allowed her to stay above the petty spying and skullduggery of those around her. R'hllor would always show her the truth of matters.

She would prepare the pyre for young Edric this night. And early the next morning, she would spend time with Robert's bastard. Like a sheep led to the slaughter, he would never see the blade coming until it was far too late to stop it. It was a small mercy, but it was a mercy. The lad would not be tortured by thoughts of what awaited him. His blood would be all the more powerful because of it.


	5. Marlon

They had been lucky so far. The Seven Who Are One had blessed their passaged up the White Knife and hidden them from the preying eyes of the Bolton and Ironborn scouts. That fucking traitor Roose Bolton's bastard son held the Dreadfort and he daily sent messages to his cousin demanding the surrender of Hornwood and the submission of House Manderly to the Boltons. Marlon wanted nothing more than to gut the little cunt where he stood. But Wyman was very clear. The mission they were on was not one of conquest. Their mission was far more vital. They were charged with bringing the King to White Harbor so they could properly plan the recapture of the North, the extermination of the fucking Boltons and the breaking of the Lannisters.

Silence, vigilance and lethality were his watchwords. Already they had killed several Ironborn scouts that had come just a little too close to their camp. The Ironborn may be great pirates and rapers, but they were shite at moving through the woods. Each and every one of his Northmen were worth ten of the fuckers. And not one of the Ironborn had uttered a sound as he died, their blood spilled by the blade of a Northerner.

Not that it would have mattered anyway. Between the men his cousin had given him and the men that the Smalljon and Dacey had brought, they had nearly one hundred and fifty men. More than enough to deal with any fucking cunt who got in their way. And no one would get in their way. No one would be allowed to get in their way.

Glancing across the small boat, the moonlight just enough to see by, Marlon saw the Smalljon standing like a statue, arms folded across his massive chest, staring off into the woods along the riverbank. There was a dangerous man. But he couldn't decide who he was more dangerous too at the moment, his enemies or himself? The boat was small enough and the Smalljon loud enough that he had overheard snatches of the conversation between Smalljon and Dacey. The man was beating himself up inside for not being by Robb's side when Robb was killed at The Twins. So far, all of Dacey's attempts to reason with the man had been met with curt refusals and stony silences. And a quiet Umber was a sight to scare any man. For a family known for their boisterousness, his eerie calm and quiet was disconcerting to say the least. He honestly feared that if they were called into battle, Smalljon would go berserk and throw himself into the fight with reckless abandon and get himself killed.

Sighing softly, Marlon resigned himself to the fact that Smalljon's fate was entirely up to him and that nothing he could say or do would change that fact. Idly, he did wonder whether the Greatjon was still alive or not and whether the Smalljon was still the heir or if he was the Lord of Last Hearth now. Knowing his father's reputation, he wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had died fighting. And likely taking twenty men out along with him. That would be like the Greatjon, to go down fighting. Or drinking come to think of it. The man had a thirst on him and a nearly unmatched ability to drink more wine and ale than any three other men combined. A fact that he had proven on several occasions.

As dawn approached, his men nosed the handful of small boats they were traveling in into shore near a stream that offered some concealment. It twisted his gut and filled his mouth with bile to have to sulk about their own lands like some Gods begotten poacher and move only at night. But Wyman was insistent. Stealth was more vital than valor. He had plans to put in motion. Plans that required keeping the Ironborn, the Lannisters and that rigid asshole Stannis in the dark. So they bellied up during the day, moved only at night and slit the throat of anyone they came across. All in all, it was an efficient arrangement.

Days later, as they landed on the far shore of the Long Lake, Marlon found himself eternally grateful of their efficient arrangement. That cunt Ramsey Snow had led a scouting party within five hundred yards of their camp the day before. He still wasn't sure if they had actually been seen or not. Those fucking hounds of his seemed to be on to them at one point. Not that it would have mattered. Snow only had twenty men with him, not nearly enough to take them. But he wouldn't put it past the fucker to have more men hidden just out of sight.

The close call had seemed to light a fire under everyone's arse after that. They were already pushing hard, but now they would move with a speed that would have impressed even Ned had he been there to see it. They would swap horses at every inn and at the Last Hearth before riding hard for Castle Black. It was not a ride he was looking forward to. His wife had given him a goodly supply of liniment to help with the sores and bruising, but this ride was sure to bring him a great deal of pain.


End file.
